


The feudal Lord of Aberdeenshire

by Insecuriosity



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Character Turned Into Vampire, Gen, Nobility, Scotland, Scottish Character, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2019-10-16 15:53:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17552621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insecuriosity/pseuds/Insecuriosity
Summary: Barnabus Bog is the lord of Aberdeenshire - a swampy stretch of Scotland to the North-East. He takes his duties extremely serious, despite his mother urging him to go out and have fun for as long as he is still young.One autumn, dead animals start appearing in the woods around his castle. Bog suspects poachers, but what kind of poachers would drain all the blood and leave the meat and hide behind? He is determined to get to the bottom of this, but is he prepared for what he will find once he's there?





	1. Chapter 1

“Be careful now, dear.” Griselda fussed with her son’s riding jacket, and tugged on the leather to force it more snugly around his frame. “Donnae forget to look out for your horse’s mood, they has ears for danger that no Human’s can replicate.”

“Yes, ma.” Lord Barnabus Bog replied indulgently. He was leaning forward in an unflattering manner, so that his mother could perform her usual ritual of tidying up his hair. He’d learned that it was quicker to endure than it was to argue. 

“An’ dunnae forget; lasses like heroes, but ye can’t get a lass if you’re dead. Don’t let me catch ye trying to be heroic now! Ther’s nothin’ wrong with coming back to your ma alive!” She put a hand to his cheek and carefully tipped it to the right. “… You could do with some more lard on your cheeks ‘gainst the cold winds here.”

“No ma, I don’t need more lard.” Bog said sternly. He’d already applied more lard than he was comfortable with, and knowing his ma she would plaster his face with the stuff. “Yer worrying yerself into an early grave! It is a short ‘n simple trek ‘round the forest – my skin c’n handle some mist and cold just fine.”

“You won’t know if it’ll be simple OR short.” Griselda replied smartly, but she had mercy on him and only added a small smear of lard on his cheekbones. “Poachers aren’t worth all this hassle and ye could catch a nasty cold in this weather! Haven’t ye seen all that haar fog out there today?” 

“I’ll be careful ma.” Bog tried to keep his tone neutral, but he was sure that his boyish seeped through. Just because he enjoyed the outdoors and enjoyed his thrills didn’t mean he would be throwing his life away at the earliest opportunity! Still, he knew better than to dreg this old argument out again. He was a grown man now, after all. 

“Ah dunnae see why you feel the need to go out by yourself. It’s just poachers, and there’s enough boars in that musty ol’ forest for you and me to eat! I say just let ‘em eat the animals.” Griselda grumbled. She was finally done fussing with his clothing and Bog stood up straight again, as was befitting of a man in his position. 

“I’ll have no criminals doing as they please under my watch. I don’t want to sit idly by and let others do all the dirty work either – nobody would respect a Lord that didn’t occasionally step up to do what was necessary.” He replied.

“Oh, look who’s quoting his Da.” Griselda’s words were taunting, but her tone was warm and affectionate. She squeezed his hand fondly. “You do him so proud.”

Bog said nothing and stepped out into the cold night. On the other side of the door, his guardsman Henry was already waiting for him, similarly dressed to ride and carrying two already-lit lanterns for the search ahead.  
“My lord, there’s been a development, Peter’s has-” Henry, one of his soldiers, began.

“Are the horses ready?” Bog cut him off before he could say any more, already striding to the stables where the rest of his guard was waiting. 

“Yes, my lord!” Henry said, hurrying to keep up with him. 

“Now don’t stay out too late Barnabus and don’t work those poor men too hard!” Griselda called loudly from the castle doorway. “Even strong men need their rest!”

“Yes ma! Good night!” Bog called without looking back. She meant well, but tonight was more important than he’d let her believe. He turned to Henry. “What was this development?”

-

Another night, another animal carcass left to rot in the middle of the woods. 

Bog brushed apart the fur on the throat of the boar and brought his lantern closer to better see the small bitewound that went hidden underneath the coarse hair. It was right at the artery, but the flesh was white and clean, with not even a single clot of blood in the fur or the wounds.  
The animal had been here for a little while – already stiff with death – but Bog was pleased enough that the Hounds had managed to find it so quickly. They were starting to learn. 

“The sun’s only been down for a couple ‘o hours. They’re gettin’ quicker.” Bog murmured. By force of habit he wiped his hand on the grass and ground before getting up. 

“I’m having the men search for tracks, but there’s not been much yet.” Henry said. It was not surprising – that had been the way of it ever since these odd drained bodies had started to show up in the woods. No blood to track, no trace of man-made weapons, and no disturbed grass or foliage to use as a lead.  
Bog was by no means a superstitious man, but it was incredibly difficult to imagine human perpetrators behind these wasteful actions. Even poachers that were only after animal skins would usually take whatever they could – people didn’t risk imprisonment and lashings over the simple joy of hunting alone. Both meat and bone could fetch nice prices at the market, so why leave them out to rot? 

Bog joined his men in searching the forest floor for clues of their mysterious poacher, but it wasn’t long before their search hit a dead end and they were forced to turn back. They would have their next chance tomorrow evening, just as they had their chance the night before, and the night before that. 

Or perhaps this criminal would move on and leave the mystery to be comfortably forgotten. They were certainly killing animals faster than they could replenish themselves. Bog hoped they would move on, he wasn’t so sure that the person draining away all this blood was going to stop at killing just animals. 

-

“Good Morning Barnabus, or should I say, good midday?” Griselda greeted him as he entered the dining room. She had long finished her own breakfast, and was in the process of composing letters for her many friends in the other courts. 

“G’mornin’…” Bog replied, and he sat in his usual chair. Already the maid was bringing him breakfast on a silver dish. A plain oats cake in a thin pool of milk and topped with honey. It was a far cry from the more refined slices of cured pork that he sometimes ate, but the recent developments had left him with so much wild hog in the larder that it was becoming unpleasant to eat. Boar for breakfast, boar for lunch, boar for dinner.

“Enunciate dear.” Griselda tutted. “I suppose that mood of yours answers my question. You dinnae catch any poachers didye? I still say you ought to leave it to your men and keep yourself rested for your other duties.”

“Ma. Please.” Bog didn’t try very hard to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “I’ve a duty to these lands.”

“Ye have a duty to yerself as well, sonny mine.” His Ma said. “Yer Da was a grand man, bless his soul, but he might have been ‘ere with us had he not worked himself to th’ bone. And he had me to help him!”

“Ma, I’m not working myself-”

“Oh Barney, don’t lie to yer Ma, you’ve never had a knack for it. Ye cannae take care of your lands without support, and as willin’ as I am, I won’t always be here to help.” She had pleading eyes. She had begun to do this when he first came of age, and she hadn’t stopped since. Always begging him to find a lady. He turned his gaze back to his plate as if the soaked bits of oatmeal hid the mysteries of the world.  
“Barnabus, you know I don’t mean to be a nag, but it pains me to imagine you all on your own. Please. Take some time off from whatever pressing business you feel is your sworn duty, and let yourself have fun just fer the sake of it before you grow too old to do so! Meet new people, talk to that fine lass from the butcher’s shop!”

“Ma, STOP!” Bog felt guilty almost immediately after raising his voice, and he hated himself for the startled little jolt his mother made when he had slammed his fist onto the dining table.  
He wasn’t often a coward, but in the face of his mother’s disappointment and worry he would always pick retreat over confrontation. He grabbed his plate and stood up, stiffly striding towards his study. His ma didn’t call him back, and when he dared to glance at her over his shoulder she was looking down dejectedly at her letters. 

He understood her point, he did, but he had no desire to partake in common nobleman pasttimes, and the people he met were unable to hold his attention for long – man or woman. As it was Bog was happy enough with sparring, hunting, and trying to live up to the legacy of his father.  
He kicked open the door to his study none too gently, and shut it with the heel of his boot once he was inside. He put his plate down hard enough that milk sloshes over the edges and stained the documents on top of his desk. He sat into his chair and rested his forehead against his hands. 

It didn’t help to remember the times where he _had_ tried to have fun and find a lady. Times where he had sullied young women with greedy roaming hands, and they hadn’t dared to tell him how much he disgusted them. Because it was an honour to be desired by the future Lord Bog, even if the girls shuddered in disgust from his touch and talked about him behind his back.  
No, Bog certainly didn’t want to waste time feeling undesired and odd among people he didn’t understand and didn’t want to understand, but perhaps, just to ease his mother’s heart, he could bear to try. 

He glared at his soggy breakfast and stood up with a sigh to bring it back to the kitchen. As he passed the dining room he only stopped long enough to let his mother know that once again she had won a victory over him.  
“If nothin’ happens at the poacher hunt tonight, I’ll stop working after dinner. And I will visit a ball.” He said, trying to look decisive and firm. 

A jubilant little cry came from his mother’s chair and she hopped upright as if she was a young girl instead of an aged lady. “Oh Barney, I know JUST the balls you ought to go to – I’ve been talking to Geraldina from the next county over and her daughters would love to meet you! Oh, I must write them at once! Not to mention find you some decent clothes, one outfit per ball I’d say-”

“ONE ball! Ma -… Mother did you hear me! Just one!” Bog yelled.

Barely one hour later, his mother had managed to find three great Balls for him to attend, and Bog was left to regret his life’s choices. When Griselda began to list all the frilly and uncomfortable clothes that she had collected for him over the years, Bog closed his eyes, and wished that there would be an emergency during the poacher-hunt that night.  
Uncovering a hidden nest of bandits in the woods might win him enough time to avoid at least one of these god forsaken balls. 

-

The sound of clattering horse hooves roused Griselda from her sleep, and she groaned into her pillow. She should have grown used to the noise by now – it had been happening for weeks - but it still woke her up every night. She resolutely kept her eyes closed and waited for the whinnying and clattering to stop so she could fall back asleep. 

…

There was something wrong. A man was yelling, and there was only one high-pitched whinny in the night’s air.  
She opened her eyes and carefully began to work her old body out of the down-feather blankets. Outside of the castle, in the courtyard, she saw only a single horse. The servants had been woken up, and they were trying their best to lead the panicked animal back into the stable in their thin night-clothes. 

The guardsman that had been riding the horse stood out within the crowd. He was yelling as if he had returned from a battlefield as opposed to a simple scouting mission, and suddenly Griselda felt a cold fear in her chest.  
She couldn’t see Barnabus anywhere. Not his horse or the forest green velvet of his riding jacket.

She hurried down as fast as she could, only barely stopping to fetch the nearest winter jacket, and rushed into the courtyard. 

“Good lord, man, what happened?!” One of the stablemen said, trying to meet the eye of the single guardsman that was standing in the courtyard like a lost child. “Where are the others!”

The guardsman was stammering nonsense, and even with the sparse lighting from the shaking lantern, Griselda could tell that he was as white as a sheet. His skin was shimmering with sweat despite the icy cold night. 

“What happened!” Her voice broke, still rough with sleep, but her tone was as commanding as it had ever been. “Where is my son!?”  
The guardsman stared at her as if he’d never seen her before, a haunted glimmer in his eyes, frozen like a mesmerised animal. She knew that what he really needed was to sit in a warm room with a stiff drink and calm down, but she couldn’t bring herself to care when Barnabus was not home.

“Lady Griselda?” He said vaguely. His expression was blank and lax, and Griselda struggled to remember what the man’s name was. All she could think of was her son, and the way he might never return from this ‘routine’ outing, just like his Da had never returned from a visit to the tavern. That, if the worst came to pass, she would have to lower him into a grave even though he still looked so alive- was still so young – her only child. Her only son! 

“Get this man inside.” She ordered. “Find him a stiff drink and warm him by whatever fire is still burning warm. Find a rider for every horse still left in the stable, and search for my son!”

Despite the late hour, the castle became a flurry of activity – every single maid and servant was raised from their beds to clothe the riders and prepare the three horses that had been left in the stable. The fastest horse and lightest man were sent to the village to fetch the physician, and Griselda herself stayed at the castle – preparing for the worst that her imagination could conjure up.  
She moved everything off the table in her quarters, and began to empty out the medicinal cabinet onto it - leaving only room for a man of Barnabus’ size to lie down right in the middle. 

She put on a kitchen’s apron and the thinnest leather gloves she owned, and sat down to wait in her room with the window cracked open. In a matter of minutes, the castle had returned to its usual level of noise. The servants sat and murmured, and the kitchen maids stirred the pots. There was nothing anyone could do from here on out but wait.  
Griselda sat stiffly in her chair for hours, occasionally reorganising the ominous tools of surgery, waiting for news on her son to arrive. 

Her body wanted her to let the fear and grief out – the tears already prickling in her eyes – but she refused to let go. She could not break down until she was sure that she had done everything she could. 

-

Bog was dying. He should have been dead long ago, with how grievous his wounds were, but he was still here, still hanging on. 

There must have been something in the fangs of the beast when it’d bit him. A tranquiliser or a drug-like venom that was keeping him on his feet when he _knew_ that he had lost far too much blood to still be standing.  
The monster had been something right out of a nightmare – the face of a human but the claws and teeth of a wild beast. It had ambushed them, almost invisible in the night despite the light of the lanterns and the paleness of its skin that should have given it away. 

He had no clear memories of how they’d defeated it, if that was even what you could call it. As soon as he had been pinned to the ground with the beast trying to bite his hand in two, any carefully learned combat skills had devolved into pure survival instinct.  
Bog remembered trying to wrestle against a body that felt like it was made out of marble, stabbing upwards as he sacrificed his left hand to keep the fangs away from his throat. The tightening of someone’s hand around his neck, and the sickly dripping of blood onto his face.

There was nothing beyond that. Nothing but the dazed fuzziness in his mind and the oppressing stickiness of gore over his body. Gore that mostly came from himself, and the wound in his side. When sense had returned to him, he had been the only man left standing – the beast lying dead on the forest floor with its head detached. 

Barnabus was afraid. He could feel death chasing him as he stumbled aimlessly through the woods. He could only hope that he was heading towards the castle and not deeper into the woods – he had no way to tell. Never in his life had he been so afraid, so helpless to defend himself and the men around him.  
He’d always thought himself to be quite composed and strong in the face of adversity, but he had been proven oh so wrong. In a moment of true life and death, he was not a Lord, not a gentleman, and not a swordfighter, but a scared little boy holding a sword. 

He was on his last legs, but he couldn’t let himself fall. He wanted his mother’s embrace and her soft soothing words –… if he let himself rest now, he would not see her again – not even to apologise for leaving her all on her own.

His mouth tasted of blood, and he continued walking. 

\- 

Griselda had lived a long life, and with a long life came bad experiences. She had had many times where, in anticipation for terrible pain and horror, time had slowed to a crawl.

It felt like she had been sitting at her impromptu operating table for longer than she had been alive – simply looking at all the vials and tools before walking towards the hallway and checking the clock.  
The physician had arrived some time ago, and he had spent his time treating the useless guardsman that should have been protecting her child. She had ensured that he would stay here throughout the night, for when Barnabus came back. 

At the very least the guardsman had regained his senses, but what he’d told her had been far from comforting. A small stretch of forest, limp bodies haphazardly strewn across the bushes and branches, and a monstrous creature standing in their midst with eyes like glowing rubies and fangs so big they caught the light of the fallen lanterns.  
He hadn’t stayed long enough to identify who had fallen, and if they could still be saved. He had forced his horse around as quickly as he could, and returned to the castle. A coward. A lunatic! 

Griselda didn’t know what she would do once the sun began to rise. She knew from experience that life simply continued, even after you felt it would never be the same. Sarah would still prepare her breakfast. Her friends would still send her letters and invite her and Barnabus to their parties and soirees –  
Her lack of sleep slowly began to catch up with her, and her panic-fuelled adrenalin had treacherously faded away after so many hours of nothing. Thinking of mundane things, Griselda slowly fell into a light slumber….

“EEEEEEEK!” 

“BY the LORD!”

Griselda jolted from her sleep as if she’d been stung – the echoes of a maid’s screams still echoing between the stone walls of the castle. The unmistakable sound of silver cups rolling on a stone floor reached her ears, but nothing else. No other servants came to see the commotion. There was no other sound aside of that first yell.  
No, that wasn’t quite right. There were panicked footsteps in the courtyard, and when she glanced through the window she saw the physician and the servants fleeing into the dark. Something must have happened – was her son outside the gates?

She was out of her room in an instant, rushing down the hallway and heading towards the entrance. At the top the stairs, she saw it.  
Glowing red eyes like warm coals and blood-stained fangs in a gaunt face. It lurched and stumbled up the stairway like a drunkard, but the wooden support beams cracked and splintered where its hands gripped it. It was splattered in blood and had left a trail of red-brown smudges on the purple carpet. 

She stood frozen – betrayed by her own instincts even as her mind realised that she had to hide, hide and run – and the creature saw her. Griselda could see it pause. Burning eyes, redder than any fire she’d ever seen, met her gaze.

“Mum.” It said, and it sounded like her son. “Mum, ‘m sorry...”

It started to move towards her, and despite her own apprehension she felt herself doing the same. She looked closer at the blood-smeared face, trying to see beyond the hellish eyes and the teeth. Her son’s big hooked nose was still there, as were his cheekbones – hidden underneath a thick layer of caked blood.  
He looked like he was trying to stay tough – the spitting image of a nine-year-old boy with a scraped-up knee trying not to cry where the other children could see. 

“Barney?” It was him, it had to be! What in God’s name had happened to him? 

“I dinnae mean ta get hurt.” He was slurring his speech. “Mum…”

She rushed forward. He was as cold as a rock and he stank of death, but she didn’t hesitate to pull him into a hug. He returned the gesture without shame, squeezing her so tightly that she could barely take a breath deeper than a shallow gasp. Still so strong. 

“I’m tired mum.” He whispered. 

“Barnabus – my Barney.” Griselda let herself bask in relief, but only for a moment. The fire of purpose was quickly overtaking her desire to simply hold him and cry. She had work to do. “Stay with me now Barney. Come with me, upstairs to a bed, only a few more steps-…”

“Dunnae call me Barney.” He muttered more out of habit than out of any real objection, but she could feel him getting back on his feet. “Dunnae you dare put that name on my gravestone-…”

“If you live I won’t have to, so you just focus on that now aye?” She replied, beginning to drag her boy up the staircase as fast as she could. She expected that he would collapse at any moment, but it never happened. He made it to the table she had cleared for him, and stayed awake even through the disinfecting and bandaging.  
He had been run through with a sword, his left hand had been savaged by animal teeth, and his temperature refused to rise beyond pallid, but he kept breathing throughout the entire night. 

When the sun came up, he could already walk to his room under his own power, and Griselda helped to darken all the windows until he stopped complaining about a headache and pained eyes. By the time the day had started her son was fast asleep, and recovering.  
Griselda stayed at his side, too grateful to still have her son to wonder too much about the red hue in his eyes, and the long fangs that almost poked out from under his lips.


	2. A Witch and a Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The village Witch, Plumbrooks, gets a rude awakening. Something supernatural has happened at Dunnottar Castle, and as a Good Witch, it is her job to go out and make sure the people are safe. 
> 
> Back at Dunnottar Castle, Griselda tries to heal her son, and Bog tries to get to terms with what has happened.

The life of a witch was always filled with dangers. It didn’t matter if you were a good witch or a dark witch, it didn’t matter which creatures you employed to safeguard you -…. Trouble always found you. 

It was late at night when the entire village was woken up by a group of unsettled servants rushing through the streets. Some of the younger maids had reddened eyes and tear tracks over their cheeks, and all of them were trembling from the cold. They had only the barest clothes on, with an occasional cloak wrapped around the thinner ones in an attempt to stave off the cold.  
Plumbrooks would have loved to simply close her blinds and return to bed, but that was not going to be an option for her. As a good witch, the people around her constantly demanded that she proved her goodness. At the very least she would have to brew a small potion of warming and comfort, and smear some salve onto meaningless scrapes and cuts. Make an appearance. 

She slipped out of bed, put her feet into her oldest pair of shoes, and took the cloak that had been lying on top of her chair. Imp, in his usual form of a bright white cat, hissed at her with the loss of his sleeping spot between the furry folds. This was the second time tonight that there had been commotion in the village, and Plumbrooks hoped against hope that this time would be another commonday thing she wouldn’t have to get involved with. 

“Oh, don’t give me that. I’ll need your help for this, so I would have woken you up no matter what.” She scolded. Her cloak was made from thick soft fur, but the night air had given a chill even to a garment so cold-proof, and she shuddered as she wrapped it around herself. “… You don’t sense something already, do you?”

Imp blinked slowly at her and let out a big soundless yawn. It was as safe as it ever got for a witch. 

Plumbrooks sighed and headed outside. Almost half the village had congregated at the square. Mothers were hanging out of their windows with their crying infants in arms and their toddlers tugging at their robes. The men of the village were talking to the servants, trying to look like they weren’t freezing in their single-layer tunic.   
Amongst the frightened servants was the village physician as well, and judging by how pale the man’s skin was, he was not there to check up on the servants. As a matter of fact, hadn’t he been called away to Dunnottar castle earlier tonight? ... Why had he returned? Plum could feel her hope of returning to bed grow smaller and smaller. 

“Oh, it wae terrible!” A maid cried hysterically. The wife of the innskeeper was sitting beside her and holding her hands, trying to calm her down. “Teeth th’ size of a pinky finger! Eyes like coals fetched from the pits ‘o hell! Stank like blood and pig guts, like a dead man from the swamps! Oh! Terrible, terrible!”

“Shh, dear, it’s aight, it’s aight.” The innskeeper’s wife said. “Yer safe now, y’are.”

The men in the village all turned their gaze on Plumbrooks as she approached. They all held clubs or daggers, with the odd hunting gun between the wealthier merchants. Plumbrooks kept her expression serious and proper – she knew just how quickly humans could turn on those they called ‘allies’. At her feet, Imp was weaving left and right in a skittish pattern, doing his best to make her trip

“Witch Plum.”Ah, guardsman Tom, polite as always. “Good of you to come. We suspect that dark forces have been at work.”

Plumbrooks resisted the urge to sigh. _Aren’t they always…._ “Good night, Tom. What has happened?”

“From what I could understand, Lord Bog went out to ride right before sundown. He took a squadron of five with him, but only one man came back – panicked and shocked. He is the one sitting there – with the bandages.” Plumbrooks followed Tom’s pointing finger, and found a fully-dressed guardsman sitting trembling on the ground near the inn. “Lady Griselda sent out every available soldier to look for her son, but they were unsuccessful, and not even hours later the castle was besieged by a demonic creature. One of the maids reported that it went straight for Lady Griselda, who was stuck on a higher floor in the castle.”

The hairs on Plumbrooks’ neck raised. There were many creatures that targeted human prey, but most of them treated humans as cattle or prey – interchangeable and impersonal. The ones that chased after a specific human where bad, bad news. Demons, djinnis, fae-… “Did they remember any details of this creature?”

“Glowing red eyes, enormous fangs. Shaped like a man, but dressed in gore and mud. Clawed.” Tom shifted uncomfortably, and carefully began moving away from keen ears. “…Do you know what it is?”

Plumbrooks allowed herself to be herded away from the servants and maids. The innskeeper was begrudgingly serving them a free helping of stew from that night’s dinner service, and his wife was working out a way to keep the scared servants all warm for the night. Imp stayed behind and yowled at the man holding the tray of stew, forever fascinated and bribe-able with human foods.  
“I’ve narrowed it down to a few creatures.” She mumbled to Tom. She didn’t say what those creatures were. It was far too likely that she would only succeed in making everyone afraid if she admitted that she thought of a freed Demon, or a man-eater of some kind. “I’ll have to go out and see for meself to make sure what creature it is, and if it even means any harm to humans.” 

Tom frowned. “Alone in the woods? At night?”

Plumbrooks almost chuckled. She was never alone, Imp was always near her, for better or for worse. “By the time I’m ready ta head out, the sun’ll be up. And make no mistake – asleep or not, creatures such as these are never any safer to be around.” 

Tom nodded. “I understand.”

Plumbrooks sighed, and turned back to her home. Imp jogged up next to her a moment after, licking bits of goat stew off his chops. As soon as she stepped through her door, Imp jumped onto a chair, and threw her a squinty-eyed glance.  
“No, unfortunately not.” Plumbrooks replied, already collecting a large variety of charms, herbs, and potions from her shelves. “It’ll surprise me if we will find a moment to sleep until deep into the next day. If that…”

Imp yowled mournfully and then hissed hard enough to show a little bit of the Fae that went hidden under the cat-skin. 

“Well, if you are going to be like that, ye might as well scout ahead. Maybe you will catch a whiff o’ what we’re hunting tonight, so that I can leave behind a couple of these things.”

Imp sneezed at her, and headed out. The door opened on its own – just wide enough to allow him through - and it closed with an annoyed little ‘clack’. 

-

Bog woke up feeling terrible. 

Every limb was stiff and rigid as if his joints had aged ten years, and his mouth tasted foul. The curtains were still drawn, but he could barely open his eyes without feeling the sun’s light burn into his eyes. Just moving his head took an effort like rolling a boulder up a steep hill.   
His mother was there. Knowing her, she hadn’t left his bedside since he’d returned home. It was too bright to see her well, but he could recognise her muddy red hair. Unkempt, it surrounded her face like a lion’s mane. 

“’Ello Barney.” Griselda’s voice had gone rough with worry or stress, but she spoke quitely and squeezed his good hand. “Gave me such a scare, sleepin’ all the way through noon! Y’ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“… It’s noon?” Bog struggled to sit upright, and he could feel every vertebrae unrolling like pieces of a rusted chain or pieces of hard candy that had stuck together after a hot summer’s day. His mother helped, drawing him into a tight hug as she did so. Bog tried to return it as best as he could, wincing as all kinds of new pains shot through his body at the motion. 

“Oh, God, what must have happened to you, my little boy? No, that was not a real question, save your strength! I’m just so happy you’re awake…” Griselda said, and she pressed a thick wooden bowl into his lap. Even though Bog couldn’t open his eyes for more than a second at a time, he could hear the worry in her voice as if it was tangible.

“Nae hungry…” He mumbled. “Nauseous.”

“… Later then.” Griselda tutted softly and she took the bowl back. “It’s on your bed stand – if you feel hungry, it’s there. Aye?”

“…’ye…” Bog confirmed. He’d only just sat up, and already he felt like he could fall over at any second – lost to unconsciousness. 

He couldn’t remember much of what had happened to get him in this state – only that it had left a lingering pain all through his body. His skin was sticky and crusty all at once, as if he’d rolled in honeybread and it had caked onto him. He felt foggy and grumpy all at once – like he’d been shaken out of bed during the witching hour. What was it with this infernal _brightness_ ? 

His mother carefully unwrapped the bandages on his left hand, and Bog felt confusion drift through the fog in his mind. Had he gotten hurt? How? Had he fallen off his horse? He had been out riding, hadn’t he…? Just trying to think about it made his headache twice as bad, but he wanted to know. How could he have lost so much time?   
He brought his good hand up to his face and covered his eyes – the blessed darkness granting him some ability to think, and remember. There was only a single image his mind deigned to spit up – a horrifying flash of something ravenous and wild coming for him, and Bog sacrificing his hand to keep those teeth from sinking into his throat. 

“Oh, these ones are healing up quite well…” Griselda muttered, and she dabbed an alcohol-doused cloth onto the wound in his hand. 

Like a strike of lightening, the image of teeth became a memory – the unholy feeling of his bones snapping between jaws, and the sickly shifting of broken bone under his skin. 

“Agh!” Bog hissed and yanked his hand from her grasp. 

“Bog!” Griselda gasped. Judging from a hard thunk and the slosh of liquid, his unexpected move had toppled over the bottle of alcohol she had been using. “I’m sorry dear, I ought ta have warned ya.”

Bog forced his eyes open and peered at his hand through the growing migraine pounding in his head. What he saw was… not what he had been expecting. For one, all his fingers were still there. The only sign that he hadn’t imagined it all was a handful of sicky looking bitewounds that were scattered all over his hands. There was no blood welling out of the wounds, and it looked clean and irritated – as if it had already started to heal. 

Bog squinted and blinked, trying to push through his headache. Had his fingers grown back? No, that was impossible. Then, was his memory exaggerating what had happened? Dear God – this headache-…! He squeezed his eyes back shut. 

“I’m sorry honey.” Griselda said. “I forgot how much it can sting – my mind’s all been atwitter. To and fro, to and fro… Are ye doin’ alright?”

“Tremendous headache – th’ light’s so harsh, feels like needles in m’eyes.” He replied, trying to block out the light with his uninjured hand. “Are the curtain’s drawn?”

“…As drawn as I could get them dear. I could go and fetch you a blindfold, if you think it’d help?” Griselda said. She had grabbed his hand again, and was carefully continuing to clean the wound.”

“A blindfold – ye, that ought to help.” Bog said. This time, he expected the sting of alcohol on his hand. It was a welcome distraction from the swelling nausea and pain that was growing in his temples and eyes. He felt as if his head was a wooden barrel at sea, bobbing around on an unpredictable current.   
He was forgetting something – his thoughts weren’t thinking about the right thing … He had been on horseback – he had encountered something terrible and dangerous - … it had been night. His soldiers had carried the lanterns - …. His soldiers. 

Bog forced himself to speak. “Mum?”

The touch of soft bandages on his hand stopped. “What is it?”

“Th’ soldiers. ‘d they kill the beast?”

“…Nobody but you came back, Bog dear.” Griselda said after a pause. “Well, there was one soldier, but he couldnae say a single useful word. I don’t know what happened to th’ others. Do-… how much do you remember of what happened, Barney?”

Bog frowned. He remembered nothing – nothing but the image of those teeth and the excruciating pain in his hand as it got caught between them. “Th-… those damned poachers and their dogs-... One ‘o th’ mutts got my hand…” Had it been a dog, though? Bog wasn’t sure, but it had to have been one. There was no other animal that had fangs like that. At least not ones that lived in Scotland! 

Another moment passed before the rest of his mother’s sentence finally sank in. The pure alarm it caused was enough to drive the headache back, even if just for a moment. “… Nobody else got back?!” He immediately regretted his outburst. 

“Shh. Barney. Eat your soup before ye fall asleep. Ya need the strength.” Griselda replied. “Yer lordly duties can wait, and I’m not letting you off this bed until I’m sure you won’t immediately keel right back over.”

Bog made a noise of protest, but he let his mother tuck a pillow behind his back for support. His mother was capable. If she weren’t so taken with fanciful clothing, intricate artworks, and ladylike tea parties, he would have thought that she had been born in the wrong body.   
Griselda pressed the bowl into his hands, and Bog took a sip.

The taste that flooded his mouth was beyond acrid, and he couldn’t stop himself from gagging at the taste. There was something wrong – it didn’t taste like burnt food, or failed food. It tasted wrong – as if he was trying to eat dirt and rocks. Dry – so dry, even thought it was a watery soup – and it clung to his inner cheeks and throat as if it was trying to coat every inch of his flesh. 

“Barney-?”

“T-too nauseas. Sorry.” He replied with watering eyes, handing the bowl back to his mother. 

“… Ye get a pass this time young man.” She said. “Go on back to sleep, I’ll see about getting you that blindfold, aye?”

Bog let himself fall back onto the matrass, and shakily drew the covers up over his head to save his poor eyes. As Griselda closed the door behind her, he could hear her mutter; “My soup’s not tha’ bad…”

-

Just as Plumbrooks had expected, she wasn’t going to be making it home in time to sleep in her own bed, if she even got to sleep at all.   
With her heavy winter coat layered over her enchanted spider-silk tunic, she was slowly making her way towards Dunnottar castle. Every single pocket she had was bulging with wards, potions, scrolls, stones and wands, and progress was painfully slow. 

“Oh, why couldn’t witches be more like in th’ stories.” She moaned to herself as she felt a patch of brambles tug on her stockings. “I could just lift all of this stuff with my spells and magic, and then fly over this forest on my broomstick.”

“M-waw.” Imp said impatiently. This deep into the woods, he had foregone most of his catlike disguise, and was hopping ahead of her on his own two hind legs. The early evening sun made his white fur look like it was glowing. “Mraw-awww!”

“Yes, yes, I’m coming you silly thing!” Plumbrooks called out. “It is not easy walking off the beaten path with all of this stuff!”  
Imp was skilled and intelligent, and Plumbrooks was lucky to have struck a deal with a Fae so knowledgeable – but there were times where she wished that he held a little more respect for the limits of her human body. 

“I sure hope we aren’t making this detour for nothing.” Plumbrooks sighed. “If we’d stayed on the path we could have been there hours ago.”

Imp didn’t reply. His disproportionate fae ears flopped up and down, his thin long snout twitched -… and he dove into the underbush with a pace that Plumbrooks could not hope to keep up with. He had found something.   
Plumbrooks kept her silence, and carefully followed in Imp’s direction – her hand wrapped tight around her strongest protection charm. Her own senses detected nothing out of the ordinary in these woods perhaps maybe the smell of a recently dead animal. At least, she hoped it was an animal. 

“Maauu!” Imp called out. As loud and alarming as it seemed, it was a relief to hear his yowl. It signified that the woods were safe. Safe enough that they didn’t have to worry about an ambush that is. “MmmmmmRRRROWWW!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Don’t tear out your vocal chords, I’m going as fast as I can!” 

She found Imp in a small clearing – more the absence of a tree or two than a true field. Between the rotting leaves and torn-up moss bedding, there were dead men. Their armour, weapons, and even a packaged sandwich were all strewn around and in various states of destruction.   
In the middle of it all laid a single skeleton – blackened as if it had been dragged from a furnace, with traces of ashes still around where the wind hadn’t been able to blow them away. Its skull was lying near Plumbrook’s feet – and when she bent over to pick it up, she could hear the tell-tale hiss of vampire bones slowly bleaching in the sun. It would only take a few more hours before there was nothing left of this creature but dust. 

“…I cannae say I was expecting this.” Plumbrooks said, lifting the skull in her hands and pulling gently at the vampire fangs. They would be a useful ingredient in some of her potions, even if the sun had bleached them a little. “A vampire gettin’ bested by a group of mortal men. _Unprepared mortal_ men at that. They’re usually a lot smarter. Subtler.”   
This particular vampire had been old enough to have all the flesh scoured from his bones by daylight, but young enough that it had left his skeleton intact. Allmighty, it must have been a strikingly stupid mortal before being turned. Most vampires around this age would already have a proper nest with ghoul-servants and fledgelings.

Imp yawned his agreement. Judging from his relaxed body language there were no magical, holy, or warding items in this clearing – not even a toe of garlic or an iron rosary. It was a miracle the men had managed to slay the vampire at all!

“Just like how it’s a miracle that this foolish corpse managed to infect someone in this horrid frenzy…And yet it seems that that’s exactly what happened.” Plumbrooks sighed. She could only hope that the panicked men and women from castle Dunnottar had been exaggerating when they’d spoken of a monster invading the castle. People did tend to read evil into simple injuries or skin afflictions…   
Imp trotted past her and showed her an almost hidden trail that was zig-zagging through the woods. Leaves, trees, and moss had all been splotched by blood – only a day old. The fledgling had clearly been heading to the castle. 

Plumbrooks knew what the villagers wanted her to do to the vampire at the end of that trail, but she hoped that she would find a coherent and rational man at the end of this trail. Vampires might be born from darkness, but they didn’t have to be cruel and vindictive. They could thrive on the occasional mouthful of human blood and supress their hunger with animal blood. As long as they kept a check on their bloodlust, they were as harmful as a tamed dog.   
Should she be able to talk to them, she might even convince them to become her ally. If the humans ever turned against her, there was no place better to hide than the den of a man-eater after all. She could safeguard their resting place, teach them the ins and outs of their new existence, and in return, the vampire would protect her. 

“Well, that’s the best-case scenario anyway… Better to assume the worst before I head on off into dreamland.” She muttered to herself and began reorganising her pockets. She wouldn’t need the potions of ice or the scroll of lightening and earth, so fire and light had to be moved more to that front-right pocket… Not to mention that she would have to crush some of the garlic bulbs – ugh, she was going to stink of the stuff for days!

“Mowww!” Imp said, his tail flicking side to side with impatience. 

“Yes yes, I’m coming!” She took one more look at the dead men in the clearing, and mumbled a quick prayer for them. It probably said a lot about the state of Scotland that she only felt a distant pity for the dead men. Too many creatures of the night running unchecked, too few good witches to try and help the people. 

-

Griselda hadn’t slept a wink since the panicked guard had woken her up in the middle of the night. She had tried, of course, but nightmares of her son going slack with death kept waking her up. Even if she dragged a chair to his bedside and held his hand as she dozed, she would startle awake – certain that this time she’d _really_ heard him stop breathing. She couldn’t stray away from Barnabus’ bedside for longer than a handful of moments.  
It wouldn’t have been a problem if the servants were still around. She could have sent them running for food, bandages, boiled water, medicine, to empty out her chamberpot - but none of the servants had returned to the castle, and so all the common day tasks were left undone. 

She couldn’t say she was mad at them. Well, no. That was a lie. She actually had a couple of choice words for them should they ever cross her sight again – but she understood why they had run away. It had taken her a few moments to recognise her son in the shambling monster that had entered the castle, and those few moments she had feared for her eternal soul.   
Even after dressing his wounds, tucking him into bed, and sitting guard at his bedside the whole night, she half-expected Barney to wake up snarling like a beast. Thankfully, the one moment where he had awakened from his near-catatonic sleep, he’d been his normal self. Obviously not feeling well, and not nearly as weary of her mothering as he’d normally be, but very much himself. Still, Griselda hadn’t been able to keep her hands from trembling a little. 

His new fangs hadn’t grown smaller since she’d first seen them. Nor had his eyes grown any less piercing and red. His skin had become even colder than when he’d come stumbling into the castle, and he’d grown deathly pale. More evidence of otherworldly meddling had shown themselves under the bandages of his hands. Bone, sinew, and muscle had all grown back where it had been bitten off and ravaged. The wound in his side had been completely healed when she’d unwrapped it for cleaning, leaving only a faded scar. 

The clock in the hallway began to chime, and Griselda startled out of her daydreaming. It was getting dark. Usually this would be the time where the servants went through the castle halls to light the lanterns and a few choice chandeliers, but now everything would remain dark.   
Griselda pushed herself up from her chair and stroked Barnabus’ head, before heading down to the kitchens where she had left the pumpkin soup. She hadn’t had her own share just yet – too worried to eat – but if the servants weren’t coming back she would have to keep her strength up until she could replace them. The fire in the kitchens had gone out long ago since she couldn’t be there to feed it, but she didn’t care if the soup was cold. She had more important things on her mind.

She scooped a generous ladle of soup out of the kettle and poured it into her bowl. There were plenty of folklore stories about monsters with teeth. Shapeshifters and changelings that took the place of a loved one, unholy curses being cast upon those who weren’t God-fearing enough…   
Which one of them had befallen her boy? Was it reversible? What if it wasn’t? What if his new state would change him beyond recognition, or worse yet; what if he stayed the same, only to be killed by superstitious men from the village?

She took a spoonful of soup and shuddered. God, it was no surprise this brew had nauseated her poor Barnabus. Griselda had never been a great cook, and she’d never had to learn. Hm. She took another sip and frowned. What was that taste? She had added a lot of pepper, but that couldn’t be it – didn’t pepper automatically enhance any dish? Why else would it be so expensive! Adding more should make it taste better, that was simple-

“Where are the servants.” 

Griselda jumped. The cold soup splattered all over the front of her dress and onto the floor. “B-by God, Barnabus! Donnae startle me like that!”

He had come out of nowhere, with nary a single sound. He didn’t look like the injured man she’d tried to feed soup to just a few hours back – he was standing straight and alert, and looking positively murderous. Without the light of the lanterns and candles, his eyes seemed to burn like hellfire instead of smouldering like coals.   
“Sorry mum.” Bog said automatically, but it was clear he was far more occupied with the disappearance of the servants. “We need to send out a party for rescuin’ the men left behind-”

“They innae in th’ castle anymore.” Griselda replied. 

“What?” Bog’s lips twisted, and Griselda could see his fangs now. Had they grown even bigger or was that just her imagination? “How could they leave you here on your own! How long have they been gone? _Why_ are they gone?! Has nobody been looking for the men still in the woods? Or the horses?!”

Griselda had to put in a conscious effort not to take a step back. If there was anything her son had inherited from his Da, it was his temper. “I’m no tender little maiden that needs protectin’, dear. As for the servants, they fled the castle.” 

His anger morphed into confusion. “Fled? Why would they flee? Th’ beast might still be out there, and the castle’s the best bet to stay safe! It doesn’t make any sense.” 

“Well, you made for quite a frightening sight when you came back to the castle.” Griselda began diplomatically. 

He blinked at her and frowned. “I… Frightening enough to send them fleeing into the night? Surely my wounds weren’t that bad.”

“Your wounds weren’t what frightened them.” Griselda said, and she laid her hand on his lower arm to try and calm him down. His skin was still frigid. 

“…. What do you mean. What else could have frightened them? I-… they know me.” Bog said. 

“I-… You should look in the mirror, dear.” Griselda said. 

“What-? The mirror?” His voice took on a hint of panic and Griselda winced. In the stress of it all, she had forgotten just how seriously her boy took his appearance.   
Bog didn’t bother going to the dressing room or the ballroom, and instead grabbed one of the silver dinnerplates that were standing on the kitchen table. They were reflective enough to work as a mirror, and Griselda knew for a fact they had been polished only a week ago. 

Bog stared at his reflection for a moment. “By God what is going on.” He said. “Am I dreaming?”

He was taking it well, all means considered. Griselda had expected him to yell, throw things, do more of that awful snarling that made him look like some kind of demon -…. But Bog only seemed confused. Confused and lost. She stepped up to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “See? It’s nothin’ so bad, but in the low light it does look a smidge-”

“Mum, I cannae see myself!” Bog said in a frustrated tone. 

“What?” Griselda walked up to him and stood on the tips of her toes to look at the silver plate. Her face showed up in the lower left part of the plate, only slightly warped by the uneven metal, but she couldn’t see Bog.   
She looked up at him, and then back at the plate. He wasn’t there. The place where he was holding onto the plate was clear and light- even though his thumb should have been casting a shadow onto the silver. The only thing she could see was his undershirt – floating in mid-air as if being worn by a ghost. 

“Well… I-… I cannae see your reflection either, so I doubt it’s you going crazy.” She said. 

“Then… What do I look like then?” Bog was still staring at the plate in his hands. Griselda took the plate from him and hid it away under a cleaning rag. 

“Donnae worry, dear. You jus’ look a little… Fae-touched.” 

“Fae?” Bog echoed. “But those ‘re superstition. There’s no Fae.”

Griselda shook her head. “Barney, you-… you were too wounded to have survived the night. Ye were run through with a sword, and the only thing keepin’ your innards where they ought to be was yer jacket.” Her voice broke as she spoke. “Wha else but Fae Magic could have kept you alive? ‘n when you returned to the castle with the teeth-”

“My teeth-?” Bog’s hand shot up to his mouth and his eyes went so wide that Griselda thought they might pop right out of his head. “…Fae-...” 

“You just scared the servants deary.” Griselda said softly. “You know how superstitious they can get – they think anything’s a sign of Evil and then they immediately shun it. It’s just a set of little pointy teeth, maybe a small little curse. We’ll talk to that nice witch and get it all sorted out. You’re still my little boy, and you’re nothing to be afraid of!”

Bog didn’t seem to take her words to heart. Perhaps he’d sensed that she was trying to convince herself just as much as she was trying to convince him. Without a word he turned around and left the kitchen. His footsteps pounded against the stairs so hard that the wood groaned, and Griselda hurried after him.   
Even going as fast as she could, he had already disappeared into one of the rooms before she could see where he was going, but she could take a good guess at where he was heading. 

“Barney? Barney, dear don’t worry you look fine-…!”

He was in the dressing room, staring intently into the big three-piece mirror that served as its centrepiece. It was big enough that even the most decadent and frilly gown would fit into the frame, so that a lady could see herself from nearly all sides at once.  
Bog stood right in the middle, staring intently at his reflection. Griselda was thankful that she was out of breath from rushing up the stairs, or she might have gasped in awe. The only things that showed themselves in the mirror were Bog’s clothes – floating around as if being worn by a ghost. She could see where the blood had stained the inside of his undershirt. It was a frightening sight that sent the little hairs at the back of her neck stand upright.

Bog was still looking at himself, with that stricken expression on his face that spelled an incoming moping spell. Griselda approached him, and tried to draw him away from the mirror as quickly as she could. He went along with her meekly, and didn’t protest being led out of the room.

“Trust your mum, you’re as handsome as always. Nothin’ wrong with two pointy teeth! I know plenty women who quite like rough play in the bed.” Griselda pulled the door of the dressing room closed behind her. Bog did not react to her words. “We haven’t even started lookin’ if its fixable! We ought to ask the physician if he knows of a cure. Or maybe that potions woman from the village, Plumbrook – she’d know all about curses ‘n Fae wouldn’t she? We could look for relevant information in the library…Maybe all you need is ta sleep it off, or eat only fish for a week, or-”

Bog detangled himself from Griselda’s grasp on his arm, and turned around. “... I’m going to run a bath…” He murmured.

“Ah. Yes. You do that dear.” Griselda said, eyeing the large spot of dried blood at the back of his jacket. “I’ll heat up some of the pumpkin soup – ye still haven’t eaten a bite…. Don’t forget to wash behind your ears! You always forget!” 

Bog didn’t reply, and Griselda resolved to get a hold of that White Witch as soon as she could – even if she had to walk the way there by herself! 

-

Plumbrooks arrived at Dunnottar castle about an hour after sundown. The castle had been built to look regal and imposing, but without the usual sounds and activities it just looked abandoned and empty. There were no whinnying horses, no torches being touted back and forth by the castle guards, no sound of the maids boiling water for baths or emptying used tubs… Not to mention that the thick wooden gate was open and unsecured.

Imp was waiting for her by the gate, his normally talkative voice quiet and his eyes shining with Fae light. He was on guard, and it had Plumbrooks worried about what she would find in the castle. Would she find more torn-apart bodies? Servants that hadn’t been able to escape? Or worse yet, a castle infested with hungry fledglings – ready to jump out of the dark onto the only nearby source of human blood -! 

She shook herself out of it. “No need to work yerself in a tizzy now.” She scolded herself as she walked closer to the imposing gate. “Just cause a vampire is made with dark magick dunnae mean it’ll be evil and want you dead, you know that Plum ol’ gal.”  
Vampires could be quite pleasant and forthcoming, if they weren’t hungry or high on the power of dark magic. She bit her lower lip and entered the castle’s courtyard. It was unlikely that the fledgeling was hungry - Imp had sniffed out a couple more dead men and their horses in the woods. Their bodies had been drained from blood in a manner that just _screamed_ ‘inexperienced hungry vampire’. 

Imp let out an annoyed little sound, and Plumbrooks realised she’d been standing in front of the castle door without doing anything. “Oh, oh dear. Hah, nerves, you know. I’ll knock in a moment – just … building confidence.” She took a deep breath and made sure that her hands were wrapped tight around her silver cross, and her fresh bulb of garlic. “Holy water is still in the third pocket… A sun charged crystal, yes, diversion smells-…”

Imp hissed, the door creaked, and when Plumbrooks looked up there were two glimmering red eyes staring her down from the dark. Spells and wardings drained out of her mind like water through a sieve, and she stood frozen like a pillar in a hallway. A frantic thought shot through her mind. _Too late, too slow, oh God, this is my end-!_   
Then, she saw the vampire’s expression -… no, _Lord Bog’s_ expression. He was just as frozen as her, his mouth slightly open in surprise and his eyebrows so high up they were putting crinkles on his forehead. 

“… What-…?” Lord Bog said. 

Now that Plumbrooks could see past the teeth and eyes, Lord Bog didn’t look anything like a menacing evil man-eater. His hair was wet and there were some soap suds stuck behind his ear where he hadn’t rinsed them away properly. He was the spitting image of a normal mortal man that had just finished taking a bath for the night. 

“O- oh! Ahem, sorry, my excuses. I hope I didn’t interrupt your bath.” She said, holding her cross tight enough that she could feel the silver dig into her skin. “I am Miss Plumbrooks. I live in Lungar”

His eyes flicked down, and she could see his shoulders draw up defensively as he spotted the cross. “Oh. Ah yes, I’ve heard of you. A white witch.” His nose wrinkled, and he took a little step away from her. The garlic was no doubt fulfilling its purpose. “…What are you doing here this late at night?”

Plumbrooks gave him a brittle smile. She wondered whether he really didn’t know, or whether he was playing the part of a confused man to lower her guard. “I don’t mean to be rude, but can I come in? It’s a chilly night.”

“Oh, yes, excuse me. Please come in.” He pulled the door open and stepped aside to let her in. Imp trotted in first, walking in a wide circle around Lord Bog’s feet, and keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the vampire as he did so. The castle looked even more desolate inside than it did outside. None of the candles or lanterns had been lit, and there were various things lying around on the floor. A cup of wine, soaking into the rug, a rag, a fallen chair…  
With her hand tight around her cross, Plumbrooks stepped inside and allowed the door to be closed behind her. Imp let out a sneeze-like scoff. 

“… The servants aren’t available. I can only offer you a cut of bread and a drink, if you so desire. Perhaps some brandy?” Lord Bog said quietly, leading her to a sitting room with a window large enough that she could look out over the inky black sea right outside of Dunnottar castle.

“Nothing for me, thank you. When one has a job like mine there’s not much room for inebriation. Must stay sharp, in case I encounter any creatures of the night.” Plumbrooks responded. Lord Bog didn’t cower or posture, but it was easy to see the tense set of his jaw and the nervous glance he shot her way. “You-” 

Before she could say another word, she was interrupted by a woman’s muffled voice drifting down from upstairs. “Barney, dear? Is that th’ servants, have they come back? … Barney!?” 

“Ah, excuse me. My mother.” Lord Bog said with a pained looking smile. “Always wit’ th’ yellin- … NAE, IT’S-” 

“Barney, answer yer mum now! ... Are you okay? BARNEY?!” A door slammed open. 

“ **I’m FINE! And NAE, it innae the servants! It’s the village witch!** ” Lord Bog yelled back. 

“Ya don’t have tae yell, Barney. Thank Heavens you’re alright, ‘n there I thought you’d gotten yourself into trouble again” Lady Griselda appeared at the top of the stairs – clearly having been interrupted in changing clothes and wielding a silver candlestick like it was a weapon. Her face lit up when she saw Plumbrooks, and she dribbled her stout little body down the staircase. “It’s Miss Plumbrooks, oh thank goodness you’re here, we ran into a little problem yesterday and you’re the only expert I know of! How _did_ you know that you had to be here? Is that part of your witchly powers?”

“I-, well no-… Some distraught servants woke up everyone in Lungar the previous night-” Plumbrooks replied. Lady Griselda took her arm, and promptly guided her towards a comfortable looking chair with engravings in the thin leather. Lord Bog followed at a distance, his expression stuck between fond annoyance and plain worry. “Tom, chief of the guard, sent me here to see if there was any, ah, supernatural dangers that we ought to be taking care of.”

“Well, something supernatural happened, yes, but danger? Nay, nay, no danger to be found here.” Lady Griselda said with a convincing amount of cheer. “’s Just a little curse, I’m sure. Barney means no harm, and we c’n pay you whatever you ask to cure whatever silly Fae Curse he’s gotten.”

Imp meowed irritably. Whether he was insulted by the use of the word ‘Fae’ or the implication that vampirism was a Fae-made curse, Plumbrooks couldn’t say. Lady Griselda quickly took up an opposing seat, and muttered rapidly at her son to wipe the suds from behind his ears.  
For a noble family, they acted quite informal, but there was a genuine affection between mother and son that many people would be jealous of – Plumbrooks herself included. Sitting in an expensive chair with a goblet of wine in one hand and a cookie in the other, Plumbrooks suddenly wasn’t quite sure how to break them the news. 

“Do you know what he has been afflicted by?” She asked carefully. 

Griselda’s smile faded just a little before it sprung back into shape. “Nae, not really, but so far it’s lookin’ like a bit of pointy teeth, red eyes, and a bit of an issue with mirrors. It cannae be that bad, surely. Do you know what’s afflicted him, and the cure, going off that?”   
Two hopeful and desperate pairs of eyes looked at Plumbrooks, and she hated that she had to be the one to dash their hopes. 

Imp jumped up onto the chair and settled in her lap in an unusual show of support, and Plumbrooks took a big swig of her wine. Time to get talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is far from perfect ( as is the whole story really ) but I am happy with it. More editing would only bog it down, heheheheh ;) I hope you have enjoyed this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> I made this fic with a very specific image in mind; a heavily wounded/turned-vampire Bog seeking comfort from his mother after returning home. There was something about it that really piqued my interest. I've always enjoyed the interactions between Bog and Griselda ( Though I wish she wasn't as pushy ), and I wanted to give it a little bit of content.  
> I also love vampires and wanted to make a vampire AU that took place in old times instead of in modern cities. There are bound to be inaccuracies.
> 
> I did some research on Scottish castles, counties, and nobility - but I am by NO means accurate. I decided to sprinkle only a handful of scottish phonetics in there for flavour - you're free to let me know whether they were distracting, inaccurate, or enriching! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this little idea :) Please let me know if you did !


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